


The Morning After

by AugustApollo



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Casual Sex, Consensual Sex, F/M, Harry is always respectful, Morning After, One Night Stand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-07-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:05:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7472064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustApollo/pseuds/AugustApollo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Different hotel rooms, same story. When she tries to get away, he tries to make her stay. The morning after with Harry Styles.</p><p>This story was initially posted on a different website.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by the song "Change Your Ticket" off of FOUR.

She stirred to the sight of the sunlight beating down on her eyelids. The tiny gap between the heavy drapes allowed a ribbon of morning light through, pulling her from her sleep. After what felt like an eternity, she managed to pull her eyes completely open, staring at the nondescript cream colored hotel ceiling. She stared at the bedside lamp, at the tan drapes, at the open suitcase by the closet. She turned her eyes on anything she could set her sights on, anything to delay having to look at the head resting on her chest. His long dark brown hair was tangled in waves, curling in towards itself at the bottom of each lock. One tattooed arm was loose around her wait, and a leg tangled with hers. She reached for her watch on the bedside table, absentmindedly relieved she had the good sense to take it off during last night's preoccupation, and looked at the time. It was just past nine o'clock in the morning. 

As quickly and as carefully as she could, she untangled him from her, pressing his head down on a warm pillow, before wrapping a white bed sheet, which lay forgotten at the foot of the bed, around her naked body. Quietly, she padded to the glass window and pulled the curtain just a fraction of an inch open, peaking down to the street outside the hotel. People were camped outside on the street, wearing sweater and jackets to ward off the cold. Even at this early hour, some were already holding fan signs, holding their cameras up, ready to greet any member of the band who came out. Part of her couldn't help but feel smug; in the throng of admirers and adorers, he had singled her out. He chose her smile to reciprocate, her mouth to please, her body to adore. And yet, she knew that it was nothing to be proud of, to be Ms. One Night Stand. Well, technically, it was a string of one night stands, spread out over weeks and months. Every after a tour, he would fly back to L.A. to live it up with his friends in high places during the day, and to bury his face in the crook of her neck at night. They did not exist to each other before or after. They were only present during. 

She did not wallow in self pity. She knew there was nothing to pity. They were both respectable, consenting adults. If people knew what they were doing, she knew they would judge her. There are many words to call people like her: "slut", "whore", "skank". But truthfully, she didn't feel guilty or dirty at all. She is an intelligent, wise, well mannered, and well liked lady, who also happens to like sex. It shouldn't define her as a person, right? At least, that was what she tried to tell herself. 

Of course, she would never tell anyone about their rendezvous. She wasn't the type to kiss and tell, to spill secrets indiscreetly, to claim a few minutes of fame. She was content with satisfying her needs, and his needs, to cut off from the rest of the dizzying world, and resuming their separate lives afterwards.

With a heavy sigh, she stepped away from the window. She dragged herself, white sheet and all, into the bathroom, hoping to get some energy into her bones. Still persevering at being quiet, she let the warm water wash him off her skin. She let the soap lather and erase his kisses from her neck, his tongue from her ear, his fingerprints on her waist, his breath from her hair. When she was scrubbed clean, she stepped out and plucked a cold white towel from the rack. Gliding her hand over the fogged up glass, she surveyed herself in the mirror. She always expected to look different. Aside from the love bite just under her left ear, and another on her right shoulder, and the slight numbness of her inner thighs, she looked and felt the same as always. 

She padded back into the room, bracing herself for the cold air-conditioning to bite at her damp skin. Surveying the room, she spotted yesterday's underwear, flats, dark jeans, and shirt, scattered everywhere, having been tossed aside and rendered useless. She slipped on her underwear, feeling less than hygienic, but knowing it was a necessary evil. Her jeans and shirt reeked of sweat, smoke, and alcohol, all thanks to the hazardous night that the still slumbering popstar favored. She slipped the jeans on, but knew she couldn't leave in a filthy shirt. Knowing he wouldn't mind, she helped herself to his open suitcase, searching for the most nondescript shirt she could find. 

"What are you doing?" came a sleepy, hoarse voice behind her. She turned, practically topless with her bra, clutching a white shirt. His eyes were just barely open, squinting at her through his sleepy haze. He propped himself up on one elbow, the other hand busy with untangling his hair from his face. His chest was decorated with tattoos and his lips were in a straight line, still red from her assault last night.

"Harry." she said, feeling too much like a deer in the headlights.

"Come back to bed." His voice broke from the lack of use, and his lazy tone gave away that he wasn't completely awake yet.

"No, I'm leaving." This caused him to frown, and squint harder, forcing his eyes to open this time. The ribbon of light caught him for a second, making his eyes a brilliant green for a moment. He sat up and stretched his arms.

"Why? Do you have someplace you need to be? It's Saturday." He drawled out the last word with a yawn, pulling his arms from side to side. She noted the hints of fading red lines over his shoulder blades and looked at her fingernails briefly. She didn't think that they would leave a mark that bad.

"No, I just really need to leave." She said, pulling his white shirt over her body. "I'm sorry I have to borrow another one. Mine is disgusting." She found her bag by door. 

"Here's the shirt I borrowed last time. I had it cleaned, so don't worry. And I'll return this one too. Eventually." She set the black shirt on the bedside table closest to him, but he didn't seem to pay attention to it.

"Why are you leaving so soon? You're making me feel a bit used." He joked, a slight smirk pulling at his mouth, showing the ghost of a dimple. "Let's have breakfast first."

"No, I have to leave."

"Why, when you don't even have any place to be?" He countered. Damn it. Her patience was wearing thin.

"I just don't want to be here anymore, okay?" She said, pulling her bag across her torso. She zipped it open to checked that she had her phone and her money. When she glanced up, he looked hurt and confused.

"What's going on? Did I do something wrong?" He stood from the bed, naked in all his glory. He pulled his ever famous frown, his eyebrows knitting together on his forehead, glaring straight at her. She tried not to think about how she loves to kiss that spot between his eyes.

"No." She answered. He found a fresh pair of boxers and quickly pulled them on.

"Were you uncomfortable?" He was digging through his suitcase now.

"No." He found one.

"Is it the fans? Did they find out? Are they bullying you?" Each word was staccato as he jumped up and down to get his skinny fit jeans on him.

"No."

"Then what is it? What's going on?" He pulled the button together and held his arms open, looking completely exasperated.

"It's just me, okay? I change my mind. I don't want this." His eyebrows knitted together.

"You don't want this? Are you sure I haven't done anything wrong? Do you want more?" She tried not to notice how his voice broke over the word "more". He placed his hands on his hips. She then tried not to stare at the cut of his waist, disappearing into his jeans. The operative word is TRIED. She's failing brilliantly.

"No...I don't know. I'm not a booty call. I'm not the kind of girl that guys call up for a quick fuck." His eyes glazed over with red.

"Hey! I never treated you like that. I never made you feel like a booty call. Is that what you think?" He looked furious now. 

"Put a shirt on." She said, partially aware of the dullness in her tone. He gave a growl, but proceeded to scavenger for one. "Getting a call late at night to go to some party, then most certainly proceed to fucking in a hotel room feels awfully close to a booty call."

"Do you feel disrespected? I never want to disrespect you. I always want you to be comfortable, to have as much fun as I do." He said, pulling the shirt over him.

"I do, really, I do. But I don't know...I'm completely lost right now. I'm thinking of a million things at once." 

"What do i need to apologize for? What can i say to change your mind?" His hands found their way back to his hips.

"Nothing. You shouldn't. I just need to leave. I need to sort my head out." She said, slipping her flats on. She pulled out a comb from her bag, and attempted to pull the wet wreck into some form of order. He stood behind her, trying to catch her eye in the mirror.

"Let's at least have some breakfast." He looked earnest and serious.

"No." He pouted. How pathetically adorable.

"Let me drive you home."

"No."

"Let me walk you out the back door." 

"Yeah, nothing screams 'walk of shame' more than exiting through the hotel kitchen door." She scoffed, still wrestling with her hair.

"Then, let me walk you out the front." He rolled her eyes at her.

"Fuck off."

"Let me call you a cab."

"No."

"Then what the hell can I do?! Let me at least SEE you out." He said, losing his patience.

"Fine, you can SEE me out." She finished with her hair, and stuffed the comb back in the purse, before facing him. He lifted an eyebrow in interest. "You walk out first, and I'll follow you a minute later. Your fans are waiting out front. You can go out and meet them, and from the distance, you can wait for me to get a cab. Whatever you do afterwards, that's up to you."

"You're being absolutely crazy and unnecessarily difficult." He glared at her, but she just shrugged him off.

"I promise, this isn't any of your fault. You're a complete gentleman." She gave him a smile as a peace offering. He truly was. He held her after all their evenings, he bought her breakfast, he actively engaged in conversation, he made sure she got home safe, and gave her proper thanks. He never ushered her out the room, never left in the middle of the night, never hastened their time together, and never made her feel dispensable. 

His eyes softened by a fraction, and he opened his arms to her. She stepped into them, feeling him envelope her in his warmth. His scent was both familiar and foreign, a great metaphor for how they were together. Her face fit under his jaw, and she pressed a gentle kiss on his shoulder as she squeezed his waist. 

"I hope to see you again." He said, burying his face in her hair. "If you aren't involved when I get back."

"I'll let you know." She said, pulling away from him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and beamed down at her. With a sigh, he pulled away completely, and she watched him as he pulled on his watch and his crucifix. He gave her a playful wink just before he pulled his sunglasses on, and exited the door. Counting to 30 in her head, she looked around the room one last time, breathing in their combined scent. She never knew when she would see him again, be with him again. She doesn't even know where he's headed today. The mystery was part of the thrill, and part of what makes them work. They knew little about each other's separate reality.

When the 30 seconds were over, she left the room too. He wasn't in the hallway anymore, and he wasn't in the hotel lobby either. Through the glass doors, she could see him surrounded by fans, already posing for pictures and signing autographs simultaneously. She pulled her own sunglasses from her purse, and nodded at the hotel security who escorted her out, making sure she was safely away from the popstar's havoc.

She walked passed him and his fans, and headed straight for the sidewalk, patiently waiting as the security offered to hail her a cab. She could feel him watching her, although his eyes were disguised by his sunglasses. subtly looking around, he could see him in her peripheral vision, his whole whole facing her direction. It only forced the fans to adjust to him, giving him a full, unobstructed view of her. He continued posing for photos, and she continued to pay him no mind.

It didn't take long for a cab to pull up. As she pulled open the car door, she daringly stole a glance at him. Not knowing if he was really looking or not, she gave him a small nod and smile. His lips pulled up by a fraction, and nodded discreetly, saying his silent farewell. The cab pulled her away from the hotel, away from him, and she couldn't figure out if she felt better or worse.

A few hours later, she was curled up on her sofa, watching him and his band being interviewed on a popular noontime show. She tried hard not to think about the fact that mere hours ago, his body was warming hers, his breath in sync with hers. She found out that they were to leave that evening, headed to countries on the other side of the globe, and they would be gone for the rest of the year. Late in the evening, she received a text she would not get the chance to read until the morning after, when it was too late to reply.

_"Thank you again, beautiful. Hope all is well. If you aren't involved when I get back, you owe me breakfast and some catching up. See you soon. x"_


End file.
